Giving Up
by PaintRedRoses
Summary: End of Season 3. My take on 1 How House and Cameron may have slept together, 2 Why she went with Chase. Angsty, but with a glimmer of hope-i think. House/Cameron, slight Cameron/Chase


**A/N: Okay. So pretty much, this is my imagination going wild. This is my backstory as to how Cameron slept with House (which I, obviously, think she did), and what caused her to be with Chase. It's set end of S3, after Cameron's resignation. My idea is to have Giving Up by Ingrid Michaelson playing on repeat over and over and over again. Ok, enjoy!**

_What if we stop having a ball?_

She's in his arms trembling in ecstasy and salvation. The feeling she's longed for for years finally broke the dams and is free flowing throughout her system.

Oh God, she recollects the previous night.

Yes, she remembers the tone of finality in her voice.

She remembers that look in his eyes.

Most importantly, she remembers erasing all that she said with a single cry of his name.

"House?" she whispers crackled noises in his left ear.

He grumbles in response.

A completely appropriate response, according to him.

"I'm leaving now." This whisper is more refined, each crack is smoothed out. Now she sounds like warm honey and vanilla.

She blesses herself with the courage to step out of his bed naked, without the aid of a sheet. Perhaps, in some way, it could add to her strength.

"Jesus, Cameron. You're too nice to even pull a good one night stand." He flips himself over and sits upright. He owes it to himself to look at her a little longer.

"What?" Her genuine concern echos throughout the room, leaving a trail of concern as she enters his closet, scrambling to find clothing.

"You're not supposed to tell me you're leaving, or warn me. It's...it's like a hit and run."

"It doesn't have to be."

Woah there, maybe you have a little too much courage.

He lets out a single "Ha," and adjusts himself.

He can look away now, she's fully clothed.

_What if the paint chips from the wall?_

_What if there's always cups in the sink?_

A melancholy smile is illustrated on her face. She tosses her hair out from inside one of his few button down shirts.

A ferocious nod causes an earthquake in her brain, and her lips can't decide whether to smile or frown.

With a languid pivot, she faces his wall. Her fingers trace pictures and designs into the paint.

"I have to get that...um...repainted" he offers an excuse for his carelessness.

Genuine waves of laughter flow out of her lips.

Her nose crinkles, "Why? It's suits you. I like it."

"You're naive."

'I'm positive." Her correction makes all the difference.

House returns to his slightly uncomfortable position, only to see her bend downwards.

He curses his height when she lifts his jeans in front of her body.

To her stereotype. she neatly folds the garment and places it on the foot of the bed.

"Sit down." He commands, scolding her for her cleanliness.

How dare she.

Not daring to (or perhaps, not choosing to) object, she sits by his side, crossing her ankles.

_ What if I'm not what you think I am?_

"You're right." she concedes, without a trace of sadness

"Obviously. About what specifically, though?"

Like candles, her eyes flicker up to meet his.

The crystal-like water of his eyes puts out her flame.

Her strength peeks through her shielded body.

"We're not good for each other. You're not good for me. I'm not good for you."

_What if I fall further than you?_

_What if you dream of somebody new?_

The surprise attack overwhelms him.

She_ is_ perfect for him, even he knows that.

The Jane Eyre to his Rochester.

The Belle to his Beast.

"How are _you_ not good for me. If I stub my toe, you'd give it butterfly kisses 'till the boo-boo goes away."

She grasps his hand almost condescendingly, though her heart is too big to accomplish that task.

"I'd love you too much. That's just it."

He scoffs, nearly choking on his own throat. Caught in her sincere point.

"Oh, shut up," his body rejects her heart, "You'd go and fall for Chase in a second."

Her eyes betray her, and look away from his, upward towards the higher power they don't trust.

With a bitter bite she retorts, "It's not like you won't fall for Cuddy just as fast. Right?"

"Yeah. Right."

His answer is barely audible.

It's okay, she'd rather not hear anyway.

_What if I never let you win_

_And chase you with a rolling pin?_

_Well, what if I do?_

"I'm always right." he states, as if it were a well known fact to all.

"I never said you weren't."

"Doesn't that bother you?" he questions with a snark.

She debates between "It never has before," and "I guess it might."

She chooses the latter.

"You should leave."

"Why? We're not doing anything. We can't be civilized?"

He mock contemplates the situation.

"Nope."

_Cause I am giving up on making passes and_

_I am giving up on half empty glasses and_

_I am giving on greener grasses._

_I am giving up._

Clicking her tongue, she attempts to look at his insides. Though he barricades the entrance and holds up iron shields.

He will never let her in. When will she get that?

"Okay," she whispers with solemn sighs.

The hint is taken. She takes her purse hostage, fiercely clutching it under her arm.

"Missing something?" he halts, spinning a pomegranate red thong on his forefinger-almost smiling.

"Can I have that back, please?"

"No."

"House." she reprimands. He continues to spin around, and around, and around.

"It'll be like your little parting gift to me. What I can remember you by."

She bitterly shoots her eyes to the floor, pursing her lips in frustration.

"Fine." she cracks, throwing her arms in defeat.

_What if our baby comes in after nine?_

_What if your eyes close before mine?_

"Oh God, Cameron. Don't do this. Don't be all sulky and martyr-y, and passive aggressive."

"I'm not! You want me out-I'm out."

"Cameron, stop it. Stop thinking there's hope. You're too nice, I'm too mean. You're too young, I'm too old. I'm-"

"Unstable. Awful. Wretched. You're like my foil. I get that. I understand that. So don't treat me like I'm incapable of comprehending why I can't have anything with you, because I know that it's not possible. I know I can't. So I am leaving you in every way I can."

"No."

"Let me leave!"

It's funny how one heart can betray every other body part. One word shackles her two feet.

"I'll see you at nine tomorrow."

"What?" she's repulsed, " I _quit_ House. I am leaving you. So you can keep my fucking underwear, and you can throw the rest of me out of this apartment. But I will not let you chain me to the desk in your office so I can be...I don't know. Verbally, emotionally, and mentally abused!"

_What if you lose yourself sometimes?_

_Then I'll be the one to find you _

_Safe in my heart._

"You love every second you have with me. You can't fake that."

She smirks, and thinks of her life. Everything involved in it.

"I respect you. I admire you. Hell, I even love you. But I can't. And I have to leave you."

"For Chase?"

"What's so wrong with that? He's stable and nice. He's-"

"A filler."

"Maybe. Probably. But that's what I need. He just doesn't have to know that"

She nods a good-bye and slinks out of the room, head held high, toying with the hem on her lavender blouse.

Toying with too many things.

_Cause I am giving up on making passes and_

_I am giving up on half empty glasses and_

_I am giving on greener grasses._

Her back is to the door.

"Hi."

"It's Tuesday" she croaks, unable to look at his eyes. Her body pulsing rapidly.

"No...it's Monday."

Synthetic courage makes its presence.

"I know. I just...didn't feel like waiting." Not for anything.

She can't wait and take the time to heal.

Of course, she'd much rather be broken.

Soft lips caress her own, and she feels nothing except soft.

He can be her band-aid...she won't pick at that scab any longer.

Here she goes.

Rebuilding the dams.

Again.

_I am giving up._


End file.
